


The Paper That Blew Away on the Breeze

by umiyuki



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Community: kink_bingo, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umiyuki/pseuds/umiyuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In which the histories of the Kami-no-Ko and his samurai lover are related, followed by an erotic calligraphy scene.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paper That Blew Away on the Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my homage to classical Japanese literature, particularly the works of Ihara Saikaku, and to its English translations. It is by no means to be taken seriously. And on a kanji nerdery note, the version of _rai_ referenced in this story is the archaic form, which had ten more strokes than the modern version.

_In the estate of the daimyo Yanagi Renji there lived many who had come to misfortune in this lifetime. Among these were a young actor whose promising career had been tragically cut short by illness, and a samurai of good name whose family had come to disgrace during an ill-fated rebellion. Here follows an account of their histories._

 _In the theatre district of old Edo, there were many young actors of great beauty and talent, but the most beautiful and talented of all was Yukimura Seiichi, known as the Kami-no-Ko. The Kami-no-Ko was so lovely, it was said, that all who so much as caught sight of his ankle as he descended from his palanquin or a mere glimpse of the nape of his neck as he passed by fell instantly and hopelessly in love with him. To gaze upon his face was to know true beauty; to see him perform, true art. He was unrivaled in all of Edo, and many a man had attempted to buy the Kami-no-Ko’s favours, some selling all they owned for a chance to share his pillow. But the Kami-no-Ko refused them all, for his heart belonged to another.  
_

 _Now the Kami-no-Ko had long been acquainted with the daimyo Yanagi Renji. Yanagi was one of his many patrons, though by some miracle he was immune to Yukimura’s nigh-irresistible charms. So the two of them would often drink together, talking long into the night about this and that. One night the young lord happened to give the Kami-no-Ko a present: a portrait he had acquired from one of the galleries._

 _The portrait was of a young samurai by the name of Sanada Gen’ichiro, a man who was said to have no equal on the battlefield. The slash of his sword was as swift as the north wind, and he could cut down his enemies before they even saw him unsheathe his sword. His footsteps were as silent as a still forest, enabling him to ambush any opponent. He could attack with all the intensity and aggression of a blazing fire, and none could stand against him. In battle he was as unyielding and immovable as the tallest mountain, never giving up even an inch of ground. It was also said that he could strike with speed and fury as harsh and unpredictable as lightning, and that his movements in battle were as unreadable as the deepest darkness of the shadows. In addition to all of this, he was tall, well-muscled, and breathtakingly handsome._

 _The very instant that Yukimura laid eyes on the portrait of Sanada Gen’ichiro, he fell deeply in love with him and vowed never to give himself to anyone else._

 _But the gods must have looked unfavorably upon his refusal to sell his body, for before too long the Kami-no-Ko fell gravely ill. While this made him even lovelier to behold than before, it also rendered him incapable of working, and in scarcely any time at all he was completely bankrupt and unable to pay for his doctors or his medicines. Even though men offered three, four, even ten times as much money to take him to bed as they had before, since he was wasting away and growing lovelier by the day, still he refused them, saying he would never share a bed with anyone but his one true love. Unable to pay for treatment, his condition grew worse and worse until he was but a breath away from passing from this world. It was then that the daimyo Yanagi Renji heard of his plight and paid his friend a visit._

 _Though the Kami-no-Ko was on the verge of expiring and quite the most beautiful thing on this earth, the young lord still remained inexplicably immune to his allure. He knelt by his friend’s bedside, holding his hand, and asked him if there was anything he wanted, any last regret he had in this life._

 _Tears ran down the Kami-no-Ko’s beautiful face as he answered. “I regret but one thing,” he said, “and that is that I have never looked upon the face of my beloved. I have been told countless times to stop clinging so desperately to this life, to accept the sweet release of death, and yet I cannot bring myself to do it, for that would mean giving up any hope of ever seeing my dearest Sanada.” He clutched the portrait that the young lord had given to him to his chest as he spoke, and even the most hardened cynic would have been brought to tears to see him in this miserable state._

 _The daimyo took pity on his friend, bringing him into his estate and paying for the best physicians and medicines that money could buy. The Kami-no-Ko was rescued from the brink of death, but while his health improved he remained bedridden, pining for his beloved._

 _Now it was around this time that the great samurai Sanada Gen’ichiro was travelling through the city of Nara, having come from his family home in the old capital, when he happened across a seller of portraits of kabuki actors. He had heard from his fellow samurai about the charms of the kabuki boys in the capital city of Edo, but having never been to Edo himself, he thought it all foolishness, the decadence of a hedonistic city that prided itself on overindulgence in vain pleasures. “Tarundoru,” he said to himself as he passed the portrait seller, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something that made him stop where he stood._

 _He turned back to look and saw a portrait of undeniably the most beautiful young man he had ever seen. His heart was instantly overcome with love, and though he had scorned the portraits but a moment earlier, he bought the portrait of the lovely young man without hesitation. Upon reading the name on the portrait, he concluded that Yukimura Seiichi was the most beautiful name in all the world and that no other combination of eight syllables could ever produce such a delightful sound._

 _From then on, the young samurai carried the portrait of the Kami-no-Ko wherever he went, even going so far as to sew a pocket to the inside of his robe, that the Kami-no-Ko might be nearer to his heart._

 _Now in those days there was a great deal of unrest in the old capital, for it seemed that the city of Edo had thrown away any sense of honor or moral code in order to indulge in worldly pleasures. The old samurai families could not approve of such doings, and it was thus that the Public Morals Rebellion began. The Sanada family, being of course the oldest, stuffiest, most prudish family in all the country, was at the head of the rebellion. But even with the strength of a thousand scrupulous warriors, and the considerable might and chastity of the great samurai Sanada Gen’ichiro, the Public Morals Rebellion was quickly crushed by the shogunate’s army of wanton libertines. The Sanada family name fell into disgrace, and while Sanada Gen’ichiro was not felled in the battle, the code of honor he held himself to so strictly demanded that he take his own life._

 _For weeks the disgraced warrior searched for an estate that would allow him the use of its courtyard and provide him with a second so that he could fulfill his last duty. But everywhere he went, he was met with offers to join the various clans. No one would let him end his life in peace! It was all the Sengoku clan’s fault, of course. And the longer he wandered, the more time he had to gaze at the portrait of the Kami-no-Ko that he still carried with him._

 _Eventually he ended up in Edo, surrounded by all the overindulgence he had fought to overthrow. He made his way to an estate that looked like it would have a suitable pavilion, and entered it asking to speak to its lord. By sheer coincidence (or was it fate?), the estate happened to belong to the daimyo Yanagi Renji. The young lord of course recognized the great samurai at first glance, and made the same offer to him as the other clans had, but Sanada refused him, saying he was honor-bound to commit seppuku. The daimyo then asked him if there were any regrets he had in this life._

 _The portrait of his beloved weighed heavily next to Sanada’s heart. He clenched his hands in his hakama, and tears filled his eyes as he replied, “I have but one regret, and that is that I have never seen the face of my beloved, Yukimura Seiichi, the Kami-no-Ko.”_

 _Upon hearing this pronouncement, the daimyo facepalmed vigourously. What kind of couple is this, he thought to himself. But seeing his chance to put a stop to all this misery, he said to the once-great samurai, “Come with me.”_

 _He led Sanada to the room where Yukimura was still lying bedridden. As soon as the pair laid eyes on each other, it was as though everything else in the world ceased to exist._

 _“Yukimura,” said Sanada, scarcely believing that this could possibly be real._

 _“Sanada,” said Yukimura, suddenly bestowed with the strength to sit up._

 _“Yukimura…” Sanada knelt by his beloved’s bedside and took the beautiful young man’s hands in his own._

 _“Sanada…” Yukimura gazed into the eyes of the one he had pined after for so long._

 _“Yukimura…”_

 _“Sanada…”_

 _“Yukimura…”_

 _“Sanada…”_

 _The daimyo cleared his throat rather noisily at this point._

 _The love-struck couple was stirred from their stupor for a moment but soon returned to gazing dopily at one another._

 _“You’re even lovelier than I’d dreamed,” said Sanada, caressing Yukimura’s hair._

 _“And you,” said Yukimura, running his beautiful hands over Sanada’s thickly-muscled arms, “are handsomer than I’d ever imagined.”_

 _By this point the samurai had forgotten all about committing seppuku, for how could he think of such things when he was with his beloved? In the end, he accepted the daimyo’s offer and became one of his loyal retainers. And so it was that the two lovers came to reside in the estate of the daimyo Yanagi Renji._

 

It must be said that the great samurai Sanada Gen’ichiro was skilled not only in swordsmanship and the art of combat, but also in the art of calligraphy. Many were the hours he spent practicing the strokes of his brush upon the paper while his lover, the former kabuki actor Yukimura Seiichi – known as the Kami-no-Ko in his theatre days – gazed on, smiling fondly at him whilst reclining upon a pile of cushions.

Yukimura loved to watch Sanada practice calligraphy. The calm steadiness of his hand, the beautiful fluidity of the strokes, the soft sound of the brush… There were times when Yukimura found himself becoming jealous of the paper. He longed to feel the smooth touch of Sanada’s calligraphy brush, to feel the coolness of the freshly-made ink, to feel the words coming into existence stroke by stroke as Sanada wrote them. His desire grew every time he watched Sanada practice, his body growing hot as he watched the brush move over the paper, and one day he could restrain himself no longer.

When Sanada entered their quarters to practice his calligraphy that day, the sight that greeted him nearly knocked him off his feet. There was Yukimura, lying on his cushions with his head resting on his arms next to Sanada's calligraphy table. His kimono was pulled down to his hips, leaving his beautifully arched back exposed nearly down to the curve of his ass. And on the table lay Sanada’s ink and brushes… but no paper.

“Yukimura… What…” Sanada could hardly speak. He knew what Yukimura was suggesting, that much was obvious enough, and yet somehow he couldn’t quite believe that it was really happening, to the point that even though he knew, it still surprised him when Yukimura answered.

“Sanada,” he said, his voice soft as silk, “I’m afraid that when I opened the window earlier, all of your calligraphy paper blew out on the breeze.” He lifted his head and turned to smile at Sanada. “You’ll just have to use me instead.”

Sanada felt suddenly faint as all the blood rushed away from his head. The idea of doing calligraphy on Yukimura’s skin… He knelt down next to his table and laid a hand on Yukimura’s bare back, something hot twisting in his stomach when he felt Yukimura shiver. “I think it might be a little messy… The ink might run, or…”

“Then you’ll just have to wash it off of me later,” said Yukimura.

Sanada shuddered, his cock twitching inside his hakama at the thought of washing his own calligraphy off of Yukimura’s skin. He lifted the brush with one trembling hand and placed the tip against the nape of Yukimura’s neck. “You’ll have to hold still,” he said, running the brush slowly down Yukimura’s spine.  


As he expected, Yukimura squirmed under the touch of the brush, distorting the invisible line Sanada was drawing. Sanada put his other hand on Yukimura’s shoulder to hold him in place. “Very still,” he repeated, starting the motion again, the tip of the brush just touching Yukimura’s skin. Yukimura twitched a bit but seemed to be trying to stay still this time, drawing in a slow, shaky breath as Sanada ran the brush all the way down his back.

Sanada lifted the brush to dip it in the ink, and imagined what he would write. Six characters, each with a completely different shape, starting with an old classic and saving the best – the one with the highest stroke count – for last.

When Sanada pressed the inked brush to the back of Yukimura’s right shoulder, the first thing Yukimura noticed was how different it felt from the dry brush – wet and sleek and cool, tracing a curve of slickness down the inside of his shoulder blade. The second stroke felt different from the first, a hard jut followed by a long curve and then a swift flick up that made him gasp. And then the strokes became shorter and faster – a quick stroke to the left, a short one down, one back to the right and then Sanada pressed the brush down hard to make a corner. Then the strokes stopped.

“Don’t stop,” whined Yukimura. “That feels so good, please don’t stop…”

“I was out of ink,” said Sanada, laying the brush against Yukimura’s skin again for another swift stroke to the right, followed by a long one straight down. Yukimura sighed as the brush tickled his skin, every stroke different from the last, every touch a surprise, even if he did have a decent guess at what character it was.

“To be swift,” murmured Sanada, “like the wind.” So Yukimura had guessed correctly.

Sanada dipped his brush in the ink again and started on the second character, putting it below the first. Short stroke to the right that he made last longer than it needed to, followed by a quick stroke down. A curve down to the left, and one more down to the right, and then he did the whole thing again.

“To be silent, like the forest.” Now Sanada was down to the small of Yukimura’s back, preparing to write one of the less-complicated characters. I can tease him with it, he thought as he re-inked his brush.  


The first stroke was nothing more than a flick, but the sensation of it was so strong that Yukimura had to fight not to arch his back. He was most sensitive there, and Sanada knew it. The second stroke mirrored the first, another little flick that made Yukimura's whole body surge with arousal, hips bucking forward involuntarily, cock rubbing against the fabric of his kimono. And then Sanada’s hand pressed against his back, hard enough to hold him still but not so hard that it hurt.

“This next stroke is very important,” said Sanada, his voice almost a growl. “Don’t move.”

The tip of the brush touched Yukimura’s skin and dragged downward, agonizingly slow, and Yukimura whimpered helplessly as Sanada’s hand held him in place. The last stroke was shorter, softer, but just as much of a tease, and by the time the character was finished Yukimura was panting.

“To be aggressive, like fire.” Sanada paused for a moment to admire the first three characters. They were quite well-formed, especially considering Yukimura kept squirming. Just watching Yukimura’s enjoyment of the brush against his skin was making Sanada feel hot all over, and though he was tempted to stop and relieve them both, that would have meant leaving the kanji compound half-finished.

The next character was on Yukimura’s left shoulder, and this time the strokes were so fluid that Yukimura swore the brush never left his skin. Just smooth curves everywhere, some strokes heavy, others just a light tickle, the character going awfully fast given how complex it was.

“To be unreadable,” said Sanada as he finished the final stroke. “Like the shadows.”

Two more, Yukimura thought. Next would be _zan_ , the mountain, and then Sanada would reach the most sensitive part of his back again and last would be… Yukimura’s heart fluttered. Last would be _rai_ , lightning, with its twenty-one strokes. He thought he might faint.

 _Zan_ had the fewest strokes of any of the characters, and yet it seemed to take the longest, even longer than _ka_ , and Yukimura found himself trembling with anticipation thinking of how _rai_ would feel. Finally Sanada lifted his brush.

“To be immovable, like the mountains.”

Yukimura’s breathing had grown heavy, and Sanada could see that he was rocking his hips back and forth, slowly, eyes closed. “Yukimura,” said Sanada. “There’s still one more left.”

“Don’t keep me waiting,” said Yukimura breathily. “Please…”

Sanada reached one forearm under Yukimura’s waist and pulled him back just enough to keep him from being able to rub himself off against the fabric of his kimono. “You have to hold still,” he said.

Yukimura closed his eyes, shivering as the brush met his skin again, and as the tip moved further down his back he began to feel light-headed. The strokes were coming fast, varying between long and short, and there were so _many_ of them. It was pleasure just on the edge of agony, and he began to cry out from the overstimulation, desperate for mercy but equally desperate for more. Just when he thought he really couldn't take any more, Sanada finished the character with a last few soft strokes, and Yukimura wasn't sure whether to feel disappointment or relief.

“To strike like lightning,” said Sanada, setting his brush down with a click. He let go of Yukimura’s waist, and Yukimura slumped forward onto his pillows, breathing raggedly. Sanada took a moment to admire the finished work, the characters standing out so starkly in black in against Yukimura’s pale skin. The effect was rather gorgeous, the characters shifting as Yukimura’s back rose and fell with every desperate breath. “ _Fuurinkainzanrai._ ”

"Did… did they come out alright?" Yukimura asked, still panting for breath. "You're always so strict with yourself about making them perfect…"

Sanada laid his hands on Yukimura's shoulders. "They're exquisite," he said. "I myself can hardly believe that they turned out so beautifully on my first attempt." He bent to kiss the nape of Yukimura's neck. "I can only attribute my success to having had the privilege to work with such lovely paper." He ran his hands down Yukimura's sides, watching as the characters on his back shifted when he squirmed.

"Oh, Sanada, please hurry," he begged.

"I will, love," Sanada replied. Now that he was finished with his calligraphy there was no need to deny his lover any further. He took Yukimura's kimono and pulled them down past his hips, and Yukimura wailed softly as the fabric rubbed over his erection. Sanada then adjusted his own kimono, opening them enough to free his own cock, and he realized that they were missing something, unless Yukimura had planned ahead. "Did you bring it?"

"Under the table," said Yukimura. Sanada glanced down and, though he hadn't noticed it before, beneath his calligraphy table was a small pot of the oil they used for lovemaking.

"You certainly came prepared," Sanada mumbled, taking the pot from under the table and dipping his fingers into the oil. He steadied Yukimura's hips with one hand and ran his oiled fingers over the insides of Yukimura's thighs, just below where the curve of his ass met his legs, then spread a quick stroke of oil over himself. "Press your thighs together."

Yukimura did so, and Sanada pressed his cock slowly into the space between Yukimura's thighs, the tightness of it making him gasp. Yukimura moaned as Sanada's cock rubbed against his sensitive skin, and Sanada moved his hand to brace his hips more steadily before reaching around to take Yukimura's cock in his other hand, fingers still slick with oil.

"Mm, _yes_ ," moaned Yukimura as Sanada began to stroke him, arching his back and digging his fingers into the cushions beneath him. Sanada thrust his cock in and out of the tight gap between Yukimura's legs, all the while gazing down at the kanji he had written on Yukimura's smooth, flawless back. They flowed and distorted with every movement Yukimura made, and they were all the more beautiful for it, as though they had left Sanada's hand and become part of Yukimura's body. Sanada had poured his whole soul, all of his passion, into every stroke, and now they were somehow infused with Yukimura's very life. And perhaps most beautiful of all was the fact that they would not last, would not remain like Sanada's other calligraphy but would be washed away soon. They could be viewed only for a few fleeting moments, and their ephemerality stirred Sanada's passions even further. He moved his hand from Yukimura's hips to run his fingers over them, the ink now dry enough not to smear, and when he reached _rai_ at the small of Yukimura's back, Yukimura keened and bucked his hips, thrusting his cock against Sanada's palm, all his muscles going tense as he came. The clench of his thighs took Sanada off guard, and the sudden tightness was enough to push him over the edge. He gave one last thrust forward and then jerked back, pulling out from between Yukimura's thighs and spilling his seed over the kanji on Yukimura's back.

Once Sanada was spent he allowed himself to slump back for a moment and catch his breath before he laid his hand on Yukimura's hip again. "Shall I get us cleaned up?"

"Not yet," murmured Yukimura. "Stay with me a moment."

"Alright." Sanada moved to lie down on his back beside Yukimura, there being enough room on the pile of cushions for both of them, and Yukimura shifted his position to put his arms around Sanada's neck, pressing their chests together. Sanada reached up to caress Yukimura's hair, and Yukimura sighed into his shoulder.

"Thank you for indulging me, love," said Yukimura. "And I was lying earlier, I didn't actually lose all your paper."

"I wouldn't have minded if you did," Sanada replied. "I'm tempted to abandon paper entirely."

Yukimura laughed softly at that. "I'm sure Renji wouldn't mind the decrease in expenses."

They laid together for a few more minutes before Sanada spoke again. "We really ought to clean up."

"Mm, that's right," said Yukimura, "you promised you'd wash my back for me."

"I did," said Sanada, feeling his arousal stirring again thinking of cleaning the ink, not to mention his own semen, from Yukimura's back. He moved out from under Yukimura and closed up his own kimono before setting to work on Yukimura's, detangling the lowest layer from the rest and wrapping it around Yukimura's body in order to preserve his dignity while they made their way across the house to the bath. He then helped Yukimura to his feet, wrapping one arm around his waist to steady him as they walked together.


End file.
